Voice in the Dark
by lareepqg
Summary: Having traded herself for the princess, Jane is prisoner to the Vile Algernon. Sick, injured, and unarmed, she will have to call on her reserves of strength, honor, and love if she is to survive. Another contribution to our story game.


_A/N: A special thank you to Biscuitweevil for the amazing cover art. It is an incredible gift of time and talent. She brings our fictions to life in a visual, tangible way that could not be achieved otherwise. Thank you, BW, for continuing to inspire us all!_

 _This story is a part of a series being written by the Jane and the Dragon fanfiction. You do not need to read them all to enjoy this story (or any others in the series) but you SHOULD! Each is amazing in it's own right- written by fantastic authors with boundless creativity. Together they create a story arc we hope you'll enjoy._

 _A complete list of these fabulous stories can be found in my profile. Now with hyperlinks!_

* * *

Jane can still see the look on his face.

A small, perverse part of her is thankful. It means she can't forget the grey of his eyes, the determined set of his jaw, his sharp, aquiline nose.

Jane's vision blurs as fresh tears threaten. She turns her head to scrub them away on her shoulder. There will be time enough to cry later. For now, Jane wants to keep her eyes on the horizon as long as possible. To see Dragon and Gunther, no matter how much it hurts, so she can remember.

"Ah, ah, ah. Do not look away, my love." Misunderstanding her action, Algernon grasps her chin and forces Jane to look up at the sky. " _Watch._ Watch as your precious squire flies away with everything you hold dear. See how he abandons you."

The desire is there, of course. To look away. To give into the pain and grief and let it wash over her in a great overwhelming flood. Jane's knees _are_ unsteady, watery and in danger of buckling. But Jane will not fall, will not give in to such weakness. She will _not_ sink to her knees and weep bitterly at her loss.

 _No._

She _wants_ to watch as Gunther, Dragon, and Lavinia fly to safety.

Having mistaken her lack of resistance as capitulation, Algernon's hands roam freely over her body. They crawl like pale long-legged spiders along her skin while he whispers vile, horrible things in her ear. His voice is low, melodic. Dark promises spill from his lips like a love poem, or maybe a lullaby. A strange dichotomy of hushed, comforting tones mixed with words of harsh violence.

It occurs to Jane that perhaps she should be paying attention. Listening in case he asks her a question or lets slip some information which will later prove useful.

It's difficult. She does not want to listen.

Surely Algernon has abandoned all pretense of stability? His mask, the facade of genial grace and courtly manners hasn't just slipped, it's shattered. Gone. Leaving her to suffer the sharp shards of his remaining sanity. They cut her as he kisses away her tears.

"You'll never see them again," Algernon says softly. He's happy, almost gleeful. "Though after a few hours of my _attentions,_ I'll doubt he'll want you anyway."

She almost laughs at this, the ridiculousness of such a statement. Thankfully Jane manages to swallow the bark of laughter before it escapes. With luck Algenon will think it's a sob. Jane knows she is brash, and sometimes speaks before she thinks, but she is _quite_ certain laughing at Algernon is a poor idea.

 _Algernon is wrong._

Of course he is. There is no doubt, no question, no shadow even in the most cornered hollow of her heart. Algernon is _wrong_. Gunther loves her. Wholly and without reservation, with every pulse of his own heart, every fiber of his being, every hidden recess of his soul. His unflinching devotion envelops her with an intensity of emotion Jane can only hope to understand. His love soothes the ragged edges of her own torn spirit. It brings her _home._ Moonlight revealing the path home in the deepest of night.

Nothing, _nothing,_ Algernon can say, _nothing_ he can do will change it.

No, Algernon is _wrong._

Powerless to brush away her tears, Jane cries. Unable to see clearly as the whole of her heart- _her very soul_ , disappears into the clouded horizon. She cries not for her own defeat, not for the unfairness of it all. Not for her fear or the wretched threat of the monster behind her. Her tears are not for herself.

No, Jane cries in anger and grief for the man retreating in the distance. Forced to withdraw at the threat of her own blade.

Over and over they fall unchecked. For Gunther and the terrible guilt, the hurt, the worry, the despair he carries with him.

 _And love._

Yes, and love.

Finally, after an eternity of self-recriminations, Dragon's form was swallowed by the low-lying clouds. A few moments later a flash of lightning flickers, followed by the deep roll of thunder. The skies opened and the rain, having previously only threatened with the infrequent drop, came down in earnest.

"Shall we, my dear?"

* * *

Walking into the cave blinds her temporarily.

The blackness of the cave which swallows her is so sudden, so utterly _complete_ , Jane's eyes cannot adjust fast enough. She stalls for a moment, blinking, willing her eyes to adapt. Algernon does not appreciate her delay, and tugs her rope impatiently.

The ground is soft, sandy. It feels like it is sucking at her boots, slowing her steps, pulling her down. It's difficult to keep up with Algernon's brisk pace, but she soldiers on, twisting her mouth in a grim line as she stumbles for purchase. Jane will not give him the satisfaction of voicing a complaint.

 _He_ doesn't seem to have any problem seeing. Algernon's steps are sure, steady. No doubt he scouted this route already and knows where he's going. Trudging along, Jane wonders if his confidence is more than prior knowledge, more than his mad conviction. Perhaps he can see in the dark. The icy blue pools of his eyes sucking up what little light there is, like some wan glistening cave-dwelling fish or sallow centipede? She can almost hear its chittering, mandibles clicking in the inky blackness, waiti-

 _Stop._

 _Just. Stop._

Jane halts the downward spiral of her thoughts.

It would be frighteningly easy to let those old fears consume her.

Yes, this is a dangerous situation. And yes, perhaps she harbors a _slight_ , lingering fear of the dark. But there are no giant insects, no blood-thirsty bats waiting to tangle in her hair. Jane listens for a moment. Well, maybe bats. Still, bats are the least of her worries. The only true threat, besides possibly stumbling and falling into a crevasse, is the creature holding her leash. She cannot afford to lose sight of the real danger. Cannot lose focus or let her imagination send her into dangerous flights of fancy.

 _This is not the time to panic._

Of course not. She needs to keep her wits about her.

Calm. _Calm._

A flash of lightning temporarily illuminates the cave.

Algernon is walking beside her, one hand on her rope, the other dragging along the wall to their left. The cavern here is large, spacious, and mostly clear of debris. She had been correct in her initial assessment. Fine sand covers much of the ground, mixed with broken bits of rock. Above her stalactites throw deep shadows against the ceiling. There is an odd lack of stalagmites on the ground. They are all broken off, rubbed smooth. Perhaps the cave floods regularly?

There's another flash, immediately followed by the reverberating drum of thunder. The light doesn't last long, but it is enough to see this main cave is quite large. A hundred paces wide. Perhaps half again? The walls are smooth except for faint scratches, and the far edge hemmed by what appears to be a pool or stream. It stretches the length of the cavern, disappearing under a ledge of rock. She can't see how deep it is, nor can she determine how far the cavern itself bores under the mountain. The flickering light doesn't reach to where its end is swallowed by the darkness.

Jane is grateful for the storm. The view of the cavern, however brief, helps center her. Reminds her the dark itself is nothing to be afraid of, and can perhaps be used to her benefit. It does, however, prevent her eyes from adjusting.

Algernon pulls her along. He's surprisingly quiet. Maybe he's focused on navigating in the thickening gloom? Perhaps. Jane can't help but wonder if without an audience, Algernon is less apt to… perform.

Not that Jane isn't grateful for his distraction. Algernon's desire for attention...no, his _need_ for an audience _..._ has certainly worked to her advantage. She presses the splint in her sling to her side, feeling the shape of the dagger press into her arm.

Jane allows herself a small, faint twinge of hope, then tucks it away. She'd have to wait but… Even as compromised as she is, she is not without resources.

Jane makes a mental catalogue of her situation. She's bound, rendering her arms rather useless. The bindings are tight, but not so tight her hands are numb. She'll have to wait for the right moment to use her dagger. She cannot attack freely -any range of movement she would have normally (hands bound or not)- had is negated by her sling. Her lungs feel sore, gritty. Jane isn't sure if it is because of Algernon's abuse at the lake, or if it is because of the bruising on her side. Jane ventures a long, deep breath...No, nothing feels loose or grating. Algernon's earlier blow had only stunned her. While painful, it does not seem to have cracked any ribs.

Everything is sore, _oh so very sore,_ and she's tired. Drained. _Exhausted._ A day of swimming and training, fighting, then an uncomfortable day spent on dragonback? Nevermind two sleepless nights tinged by restless pain? Yes, Jane is tired.

A small, sad smile curves the corners of her mouth. She had not slept much, true, but not all of it had been _bad._

 _Well._

After five minutes, ten at most, they reach the end of the main cavern. It's slow going. The far wall looms abruptly, narrowing into a rounded tunnel. They pause just before the entrance while Algernon gropes for something in the dark. A pack? Torches? He can't possibly mean to continue under the mountain without a light of some sort. The thought makes Jane look over her shoulder at the rough circle of muted light in the distance.

It's a mistake. The glare ruins her almost-adapted vision, burning the image of a rough, jagged moon in her vision. A painful reminder of Gunther's devastated expression. Gutted. Wrecked. _Destroyed._

"Quickly now. We have a rather long way to go." Algernon's command startles her. A disembodied voice that comes from everywhere. It's the first time he's spoken and the sound here is strange, louder. Algernon starts moving, pulling her into the tunnel. He does not light a torch.

Fear bubbles low in her stomach. She hates it, this childish weakness. Jane tries to reason through it, logic the fear away. Wrestle it down to where it cannot hurt her. It's a struggle. The threat of being dragged into the belly of the mountain by an unbalanced villain would give anyone pause. But she cannot afford to give in to it. _Cannot._ Jane has more important things to concentrate on.

Jane is not afraid of the dark. Not really. Hasn't been for _years_ …Until today there had been no need to fear something so benign. But now? Now she can feel the fear boiling in her core as the shadows lick at her ankles, creep up her sleeves, brush at the back of her neck.

Before she can stop herself, she asks, "Will you not light a torch?" Jane regrets her words as soon as they escape. She had not intended to draw his attention. Until now, Algernon had mostly ignored her. Hoping Algernon doesn't notice the slight quaver in her voice, Jane continues on. "How do you know about these tunnels? Where are you going?" It's a poor ruse, an insufficient attempt to conceal her anxiety with additional questions.

Algernon slithers up beside her. "Afraid of the dark, Jane?" he whispers.

Jane lies, or at least attempts to. "No." Her reply is a little too quick, her voice a little too high.

Algernon hums appreciatively. "Interesting." He drawling answer is lazy, deceptively _un_ interested. A courtier who has learned a useful piece of gossip. "I think," he chuckles, "we shall forgo the torch for now. Though I appreciate your inquisitive nature. It heartens me to know how _eager_ and _willing_ you are to learn." Algernon's hands find hers. He checks her bindings, tracing the skin where the rope has bitten into her flesh.

Jane stills, frozen. A frightened hare caught in his snare. She can feel his breath on her cheek, her mouth.

This is it. Algernon would make good on his promises.

She tries not to tense up… to stay loose so she can fight back, but her fear is getting the better of her.

With a lilting sigh, Algernon abruptly steps back.

"Unfortunately, I am afraid we are on a bit of a tight schedule. We shall have to be patient. We shall ... _explore_ this fear of yours later." Algernon gives her hand a reassuring pat. Letting go of her wrists, he makes rustling noises beside her. Algernon shrugging on the pack.

"As for your questions, I see no harm indulging you." He resumed walking, tugging on her rope. "These tunnels are rather extensive. Quite the labyrinth, here...in the dark," he teased. "Follow them long enough and we'll emerge onto the loving bosom my holdings. Plenty of nooks and crannies. Hidden entrances, exits. One could get lost forever..." His voice trailed off. "But here, so close to your beloved Kippernia, the route is rather straightforward. I _persuaded_ a local to share his knowledge."

Jane feels hope bloom. Her mind churns...perhaps she could somehow sway-

"He will not be joining us on our journey, I fear." Algernon's chuckle was evil. "We passed what was left of him earlier, near the river."

* * *

Time passes slowly. It is hard to tell how much, lost underneath the mountain.

Of course they are not _lost_. Algernon's steps are sure, unwavering. Comfortable and at home in the void.

Having been prodded into talking by the mindless slip of her tongue, Algernon chatters away incessantly. A mad prince entertaining a court of one.

Jane thinks he must enjoy the sound of his own voice and for once, she is grateful for his prattle. She can _feel_ the weight of the mountain above her. The darkness...it's threatening, oppressive. A stark contrast to the brightly modulated tone of Algernon's words. He's won and he's happy and he's eager to gloat, though it is difficult to keep up with his changes in temper. In one breath he's discussing Jane meeting his parents, his fervent desire for an heir. The next, berating her for her lack of manners and freckled, commoner face.

Still, his soliloquy serves as an effective distraction.

After a while Jane feels the passage narrow and the sand give way to broken bits of rock and gravel. It's easier to walk but the sudden change in footing comes as a surprise. Occasionally Jane's foot will slip on a small bit of loose rock, causing her to stumble and pull against the cord. Algernon is quick to react, sometimes righting her with a polite word, sometimes a harsh rebuke. It's an indirect reminder that despite his ramblings, Algernon is _very_ much aware of her movements.

Jane bides her time.

They're travelling along the same path, which has been more or less straight. Several times she _senses,_ rather than feels, the wall drop away from them into another intersecting passage. A small shift in the air, a change in the way Algernon's voice echoes.

Jane tries to remember each juncture. Left, right, right, left. Counting her steps between intersections, one thousand, two thousand, three. But it's... difficult.

She feels slightly detached, outside of herself. Sluggish. _Damaged._

Jane _hurts._

Physically, mentally, emotionally. It's cold and damp, but Jane feels over-warm, almost hot. Whether it is from the continued exertion, her fear, or fever, she does not know. Her throat is dry, scratched raw. Fever then? She can't raise her hands far enough to check.

 _Remember, try and remember._

Jane repeats the directions to herself, backwards. Once, twice, three times. She hopes, no, she _knows_ she will have the opportunity to need them.

They pass another intersecting tunnel.

 _Again._

Jane repeats them again, her list growing ever longer.

After a while Jane realizes the tunnel is not _completely_ without light. At least, not all of the time. Three times they pass places where the tunnel ceiling has partially collapsed. Thin streamers of sickly sunlight filter through the floating dust. Having long since grown used to the lack of _any_ light whatsoever, Jane can see these faintly illuminated havens from quite a distance. It's surprising how far the rays travel, and makes her wonder if she's miscounting her steps.

 _Remember, Jane._

She remembers.

It's odd, being bullied by your own thoughts.

The first of such places reminds her of a small, abandoned chapel. Lonely, but not alone. Jane sends a small, reverent prayer of thanks for the gentle reminder of the sun, however faint. The second is open to the sky, and for a few steps Jane is able to turn her face to the rain. Wide cracks split the sides of the tunnel, running two-thirds up the curving walls.

The third is filled with ribbon-thin tree roots, ethereal threads dangling delicately from floor to ceiling. Rain trickles down each strand in great jeweled beads. It is… beautiful. Otherworldly. Jane wonders how far the tree is above them. Is it balanced precariously on a thin crust? Or are the roots themselves holding the rocks in place? How long until the tendrils choke and crumple the ceiling itself, dropping the tree into the cavern?

Jane gives one of the colorless roots a surreptitious tug. It breaks easily.

 _How unfortunate_.

It is. Jane rather fancies the idea of dropping a tree on Algernon, then clamoring up its branches to freedom.

They continue on.

* * *

"Do you not agree, dearest?"

Jane murmurs her agreement. To what, she has no idea, but her submissive acquiescence seems to please Algernon.

He giggles. _Giggles._ Jane feels her gut twist. Somehow his childish mirth is worse, _so much worse..._ and far more deeply disturbing than his rages. These emotional highs and lows...she's only been in his possession for a few scant hours, but she's already learned to be wary of his gaiety.

Once again it occurs to Jane that she should paying him _at least_ half of her attention.

It's...more difficult than before. Her head feels thick. Her thoughts slower than before. She cannot both count _and_ listen.

"And then when the base-born bastard scampered away, cowed! Truly amusing." Algernon gave her wrists another sharp tug. Jane gasped at the sudden pull on her shoulder. "Not that you should expect any such hold over me, love."

Lord how she hates him. _Loathes him._

She wants to attack, pull her dagger and strike, but she cannot. She is too tired, too disoriented. He is still paying her close attention. Yet if she waits too long, allows herself to be dragged much further under the mountain, she will be even less capable of effecting an escape than she is now.

Perhaps she should wait until they emerge? No. That could take hours, days. What of the interim? Even Algernon will have to rest, replenish his strength. What then? Jane has no illusions of safety, no expectation of kindness, no hope of his continued disinterest.

Jane tries to plan, to form some sort of strategy to effect her escape. She thought of all of her training, of Sir Theodore's constant lessons. _Should your enemy be better armed, larger, and have a greater reach, then the element of surprise is your best ally._

 _Even then frog rider, you had better hope he is half-asleep._

This time, the teasing voice is clearly Gunther's. In fact, it rings so _distinctly_ as Gunther, provoking and goading, Jane looks around. She half-expects to see his shining outline walking behind them in the void.

When had the voice in her head become Gunther's? Had it always been?

Jane shivers. Yes, definitely a fever.

Jane doesn't mind.

It is nice to have him here, with her.

* * *

Having apparently exhausted his repertoire for small talk, Algernon ceases his one-sided dialogue. Instead he hums to himself, sometimes singing a chorus or two. His breathy voice would put Jester's gentle timbre to shame. It's captivating, haunting. An angelic voice in the dark.

His songs are battle hymns of course. Bloody tales of fratricide and families torn apart, sung with the tender care of a mother putting her child to sleep. The melodies echo off the walls strangely, his voice strong and clear next to her, the distant echos muted. Hellish psalms sung deep beneath the earth, hidden from the light of God.

 _Not all monsters have horns and claws, Jane._

Eventually, Algernon quiets completely.

 _He's tired. Keep alert._

Jane hopes so. She is injured, exhausted...but Algernon must be tired as well. He _has_ to be. Jane had flown to the base of the mountain on dragonback. Algernon had no such luxury. He had _ridden_ , probably running horse after horse into the ground, for two days and two nights.

The tunnel they had been following came to an abrupt end, dumping into another large cavern. Half the size of the first cave, the expanse is cold, wet...and _blessedly..._ filled with light. Above them, water cascades from an opening into a shallow pool.

Jane squints against the sudden brightness. She can see patches of gray clouds and the haze of rain above them. The light is fading, almost gone. Soon the day will pass into night, and there will be no more reminders -however small- of the dying light. Jane's fear, that _old_ and _deep-seated_ fear she has spent _so very long_ denying, suddenly claws its way up, unbidden. She swallows hard, willing it away. It's odd. Jane has spent all day being led along by a madman in the dark, yet now, after seeing clearly for the first time in hours, she can't help but mourn the impending loss of the sun.

A new spring in his step, Algernon pulls Jane to where a rough ring of stones mark an old and well-used fire pit. There is a small pile of wood nearby, probably gathered from debris washed down by the waterfall.

"Sit." It's a command. One a trainer would give a particularly obstinate dog.

Jane looks at the ropes which bind her, and carefully lowers herself to the ground. It's not a graceful movement, not by any stretch of the imagination, and she is unable to suppress a groan of pain. Her adrenaline has long since worn off; her injuries throb heavily, her fever presses close as a constant, steady companion.

Jane would never have thought she'd be thankful for Gunther's taunting, jeering jibes urging her to go _faster,_ to go _further_ during Sir Theodore's more _punishing_ marches. Yet she is. So very grateful. Yes, her reserves are dangerously low, but they are still there. A deep well of cantankerous, determined resolve, supplied by years of training and competitive camaraderie.

Algernon tosses his waterskin in her lap. Jane stares at it blankly, eyes unfocused, before picking it up and drinking deeply.

"You look awful, Jane."

Jane opens her mouth, trying to find an insult _colossally cosmic_ enough to express what she thinks of his assessment.

 _Do not. Do not incur his wrath._

Jane's mouth snaps closed. Gunther is right of course. He usually is.

Algernon lights a fire, rummages around in his pack, and tosses a bit of dried meat on the ground before her.

"For you, my dear." He smiles. A cruel, cold, _malicious_ smile which sets the blue depths of his eyes twinkling. "You will need you strength for later."

Fear and apprehension twist in her gut. "I am not hungry." It's only partially a lie. Jane has no _desire_ to eat anything, she's hot and the water she just drank is churning, _churning_ in her stomach. But underneath the fever she feels an emptiness gnawing away at her insides. Jane _is_ hungry. Starving. She'd barely picked at what Gunther had made for her this morning - _was it really only this morning?-_ and she can feel a trembling weakness in her muscles, a lightness in her head.

But she'll be damned before she willingly does anything Algernon commands.

He gives her an amused smirk. "Eat."

 _Eat._ Gunther whispers. _You will need your strength for later._

Jane eats.

* * *

The crunch of gravel startles Jane awake.

When had she fallen asleep?

 _On your feet, Jane._

Jane rubs her face against her shoulder in an attempt clear the grit from her eyes. It helps, but only marginally. She awkwardly works herself into a sitting position, nearly overbalancing in the process. Her hands are numb from her bindings. She flexes them over and over, grimacing as the returning blood drives pins and needles into her fingertips and under her nails.

The only light in the cavern comes from the dull glow of the fire, the sun having set...how long ago? The sound of the waterfall is much louder now- the rain outside is coming down in earnest.

Algernon has abandoned his place by the fire and is standing before her smirking. He's left his sword and leather armor by his pack but she cannot see his dagger. How long was she asleep? Certainly not very long. Her exhaustion still weighs heavily. Her skin is clammy, hot. She needs to focus...to banish the last remnants of sleep from her brain and gather the scattered fragments of her thoughts into some sort of useful cohesion.

"Feeling refreshed, I trust?" Algernon's features shift with the shadows. Changing, reshaping in the dim, flickering light.

"You cry in your sleep, dear Jane."

Jane freezes, instantly alert. The last vestiges of sleep chased away by the gelid push of adrenaline.

Algernon steps closer. "Were you dreaming of our time down by the lake?" he asked. "Or were they more...anticipatory in nature?" Another step. He looms over her now, blocking the light from the fire. "There is no need to wait, Jane. Though as far bridal bowers go I do find this," he gestures about them, "a _bit_ lacking. I suppose we shall just have to make the best of it."

Icy, frozen terror grips Jane.

 _No. Never in life._

Jane wholeheartedly agrees. "No." It comes out as a croak. Frightened. Less forceful, less _defiant_ than she would like.

"No...what, exactly? You are _mine_ , Jane." Algernon squats before her, arms resting casually on his knees. He's a picture of relaxed confidence. A predator who has already hamstrung his prey. "Whether you like it or not, dearest, you belong to me now. Bought and paid for- though I suppose you could consider it a fair trade." Algernon reached out to roll an errant curl between his fingers. "Though I dare say I got the better of the deal. You are no siren, my Jane," he released the curl to trail his fingers along her swollen lip. Algernon's hand slides down to the bruises on her neck. His touch is gentle, loving. "No, you are no beauty...though you do have a certain ...allure. You _call_ to me, Jane."

Jane shudders under his touch. Her small meal, so recently consumed, threatens to rise.

"Beautiful." It's a whisper, he isn't aware he's spoken aloud. Algernon leans forward, going to his knees. He's close, so _dangerously_ close. Algernon's breath is hot against her skin. His hand grips the back of her neck and drags his lips across her bruises, flicking his tongue against the swollen pucker where his dagger sliced through the fragile skin.

No, no, no, _no, NO!_

"NO!" Jane kicks out with both feet, hoping to connect with his knee, his groin, his face, _anything,_ but she has no leverage, no strength.

Algernon is ready for her, capturing her flailing limbs easily. He pins her legs between his own, shoving her roughly into the rough gravel. He's grinning excitedly, _delighted_ with her show of defiance. It's what he's been waiting for, what he's been attempting to provoke.

Jane is sickened, _nauseated_ by her own stupidity.

"You cannot still be pining for that bastard squire of yours?" Algernon is amused, _aroused. "_ He _left_ you Jane. _Gave_ you to me in exchange for what is most assuredly the king's own favor. A lifetime of ease for one red-headed bitch." Algernon slaps her across the face. Stars explode at the edges of her vision. "I will admit I fail to see his appeal. No name, no title, questionable parentage, an income dependent on a drunken father. Did you think he loved you? _Hardly._ Why else would he abandon you to my loving arms?"

 _He's wrong. Wrong._

Algernon cocked his head in question. "Or did he already make use of you? Steal away your worth with common dark looks and uneducated poetry ...only to cast you aside at the first opportunity?"

Jane turns her head to the side, avoiding his gaze. Her face _burns_ with embarrassment. She will never, _ever,_ give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Her thoughts must be written plainly across her face because Algernon laughs heartily.

"Adorable. Shall I take that as a yes or a no?"

When she cannot, _will not_ answer Algernon captures her chin, pulling hard, forcing her to meet his eyes. His grip is hard, punishing. His fingers dig in and it _hurts_ but it's just another verse in a litany of aches and pains.

"You will learn, and you will learn _now._ I am your husband, your master, your very _god._ When I ask you a question, you will _answer_ and answer truthfully. _You will submit."_

 _You. Will. Not._

She will _not_. Jane twists in his grip, but her legs are pinioned, her arms trapped underneath his crushing weight. She will never, _ever_ submit. "NO." It's not an answer, but an intractable denial of his command.

Algernon coos, pleased with her response, and then kisses her savagely. His hot, slippery tongue shoves its way into her mouth, exploring, _taking._ It mashes against her own tongue, licks the sides, the roof of her mouth. Jane tries to bite down, but Algernon's grip on her chin is too strong. It's sickening, _revolting._ Jane gags at his intrusion.

His free hand travels down her front, groping, pulling. Bright pain flares as his long fingers dig into her damaged side. Jane can't help it - the hurt is too surprising, too intense- and she cries out into his open mouth.

Algernon moans in excitement. He squeezes again, eliciting another cry which he drinks greedily from her lips. He pulls back, eyes shining. "What do you have for me, love?"

Algernon sits back to pull at her shirt, exposing her skin. The fabric bunches beneath her breasts, tangling over her bound wrists. Algernon takes in the sight of her battered body with a long, shuddering breath. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. A snake, testing the air. "Oh, _Jane."_

Suddenly he's back on her, his mouth _branding_ the marks on her side. Nipping, biting, _suckling._ He leaves foul marks of _twisted_ love, where he is feeding, _breathing_ in her pain.

 _NO! NO! NO! NO!_

She is so terrifying _close_ to giving into her panic, to cry out for Gunther, to beg and sob for Algernon to stop, just STOP, but she cannot, _WILL NOT_ give Algernon the satisfaction. Jane is screaming her negation, roaring for him to stop, and he _loves_ it. He tells her so, then drags his teeth down the exposed skin of her stomach.

Jane's hands rain ineffective blows on his head and shoulders. Her fingers work to free the dagger, Algernon is too distracted to notice her movements, but it's hidden too effectively, bound too tightly against her arm. The dagger moves an inch, two. She can't ...she can't focus, can't ... _concentrate_ because his teeth _hurt_ and _Lord in Heaven_ she is _afraid._ Then his hands are tugging on her breeches-

 _JESUS, JANE. NOW!_ Gunther's voice rips through her consciousness.

Jane grips the handle of the dagger, wrenching it free. It cuts as it comes loose but her heart is _pounding, pounding_ and she doesn't even notice the pain as she twists her wrist, and sits up to raise the dagger above her head and bring it down, _down_ into his exposed back.

It's an imperfect strike. Hampered by her bound wrists, her injured shoulder, the odd angle. It catches and glances off the bone of his shoulder.

But it's enough, enough.

It sends him flying back off her prone form. Jane follows without hesitation, throwing the whole of her weight into burying Gunther's dagger into Algernon's side. The movement knocks them both to the ground, their positions now reversed.

Algernon gasping beneath her, eyes wide, fingers locked about hers where the dagger is buried in his flesh.

 _AGAIN! STRIKE HIM AGAIN!_

Jane tries to pull it free, to finish the job, but she cannot. Algernon's strong hands prevent her. He releases the pommel with one hand, grabbing a fistful of her hair.

"You will pay for that, _bitch."_

Panic, being held at bay by the thinnest of threads, creeps in. Pushing, _prodding_ against her waning defenses.

Jane propels herself off his prone form, pulling, _yanking, ripping_ against Algernon's grip until her hair pulls free of her scalp with a savage tear.

Resistance gone, Jane lands hard on her back. It stuns her for a moment. _It's only a moment_ , but it is long enough for the fear to crash through what is left of her reason and run unchecked through her veins.

She can't get enough air, her breaths coming it too-shallow pants. Her stomach is weak, her heart racing. It makes the world spin in a dizzying rotation of up and down and then, ...and _then…_

Jane watches in horror as Algernon, bloodied fist still on the dagger buried in his side, slowly stands up. He's hissing, growling, _laughing_. Jane's eyes flicker from the his face, to the dagger, to his face again. His expressions are indescribable, switching from one extreme to another so quickly her muddled, fevered mind cannot process them fast enough.

Algernon takes one step.

How can he still be moving?

 _Get up, Jane!_

A second step.

How can he find the strength to _stand,_ nevermind come after her?

 _GET UP, JANE!_

A third.

Jane scrabbles backwards awkwardly, the rocks digging into her arm and elbow, scraping the sides of her legs.

A slow, seraphic smile illuminates his bloodied face. It radiates madness, lunacy.

"Come, dearest. Let me show you what _real_ love is."

 _Sarding shite, Jane. RUN!_

Jane runs.

* * *

He's right behind her. A step, maybe two, chasing after her as she sprints across the cave to the tunnel. She can feel him, right there, _right there_ behind her. Steps matching her own, breath on her neck. Reaching, grasping, pulling her down, _down_ back into the gloom.

The rational part of her mind, the part that is not panicked and sounds suspiciously like Gunther, is trying to reign her in, screaming at her to calm down, to think logically. She shoves it aside, letting the slippery talons of panic latch even more firmly into her frightened mind.

No, she cannot go back. No, she cannot collect Algernon's sword. No, she cannot face him and finish him off. No, she cannot grab his pack or torches.

No, no, _no._

Jane cannot because she is so certain that if she were to look behind her, glance back for even an _instant_ to gauge the distance of his silhouetted form, Algernon would be on her. Ripping, tearing, exacting his brutal revenge.

She _runs_.

* * *

Jane reaches the end of the cavern and barrels headlong into the waiting tunnel.

 _Straight, just keep going straight._

Jane doesn't hear it, doesn't acknowledge the command, but her feet carry her forward nonetheless. She's running as hard and as fast as she can in her impaired state. A shuffling sort of side step that drags her feet and slows her down.

It goes on forever, the black. The walls narrowing, closing, pressing in. Threatening to choke the last of her air from her gasping lungs. To fall in and crush her unawares. But she can't stop, _won't_ stop because surely Algernon is nearly caught up. She'd rather die shivering, lost under a mile of tumbled rock than fall victim to his venomous clutches.

She's been running for an _hour_ _or two or ten_ when a cramp forms in her bruised side. She ignores it, pressing her arm against the spasming muscle in an attempt to make it relax. It changes her gait and without warning she _slams_ into the tunnel wall, scraping her side, her arm, her cheek. The impact knocks her to the littered floor.

Jane hunches low to the ground, raising her bound wrists up to protect her face from Algernon's inevitable blow.

It does not come.

 _Jane wait, listen._

She does not want to. She wants to get up, to run and run and run and get as far away from his grinning, demonic visage as humanly po-

 _Stop being such a ninny. Wait. Listen._

She _cannot_ wait, she _must_ push on or else, or else… The panic starts to claw its way back up her spine.

 _Jane Turnkey. You are being a weak, simpering maiden._

She is not.

 _Listen._

She tries, _oh how she tries_ , but she can only hear the pounding of her heart, the rushing of blood in her veins, the harsh intake of her shallow, hitching breaths.

Jane gives her head a sharp shake, trying to clear some of the fog from her brain. She works to school her breathing, calm her racing heart. _In, out. In, out._

 _Listen. Calm._

Jane calms. It takes work and it's not immediate but she smoothes out her jagged respiration, the pounding in her head. She feels nauseous, weak, and her wrists and legs are achy with the remainder of her adrenaline.

 _Calm._

Jane feels better, more in command of her facilities, but only just barely. The panic is still _there_ , lurking at the edges of her vision, waiting for her to drop her guard, to lose control.

Finally, after what seems forever, Jane calms enough to concentrate, to still and _really_ listen.

Algernon is not right behind her. Not one step, not a hundred. He doesn't seem to be following her at all. The tunnel is quiet, save for the occasional drip of water.

He could be making his way silently, she supposes. Creeping stealthily along, face ashen and body bloody.

 _It seems unlikely._

Jane concurs.

Perhaps he's dead? Dying? Her first strike had been poorly landed, but the second…? Jane isn't sure. Her hands are tacky, sticky with drying blood. Surely the dagger had sunk to the hilt? Had struck vital organs or at the least, caused sufficient blood loss to fell him? Should she go back and check? Should she continue onward, and not risk another encounter?

Jane was torn. She turned her head to the left, then to the right, looking blindly into the blackness. As though the answer would suddenly appear like the moon which had been hidden behind fast-moving clouds. Vaguely she realizes her thinking is slowed, disorganized, and a passing appraisal of her own weakened state makes her realize her fever is still _very_ much present. She is in _no_ shape for another confrontation, especially unarmed.

 _Forward then._

Using the wall for support, Jane carefully levers herself up to her feet. The world tilts a little. Spinning, slipping away like a bit of debris caught in a small watery eddy. She presses her head and hands against the rough stone. It feels cool and solid and reassuring against her warmed skin. Jane breathes deeply, ignoring the pain in her side, willing the vertigo to pass. It does, but it does not disappear completely.

Steadier now, Jane brings her wrists to her mouth and begins to work on her bindings. The cord is tight and well-spun, but not terribly thick. Still, it is slow work, and twice she stops to listen, thinking she's heard movement behind her. A mutter, a _moan,_ which caresses the curved walls.

Eventually, the rope gives way. Blood rushes into her starved fingers, but it's a blessing. The feeling of freedom, the glorious range of movement outweighs any fleeting discomfort.

A sudden light flares in the tunnel behind her. At first she thinks it's a trick of her mind, her fever reasserting itself.

Jane waits a heartbeat. Two.

The light reappears, a quick glimmer, a spark of flint against steel, then the _flare_ of a torch which brightly illuminates the low ceiling and walls.

 _How far back, Jane? How close is he?_

It's a distance back, how far she cannot tell. Jane can see the glow of the torch and its bright center, but not the creature bearing it.

Nevertheless, it's near enough.

 _Too_ _close._

One hand on the the wall to keep her vertigo at bay, Jane drops what is left of her bindings and gets herself moving. She takes care to be quiet, to not drag her feet in the rough gravel, but her caution makes her frustratingly, _maddeningly_ slow.

Still, she presses on.

* * *

Without warning cold, wet fingers grasp at her face, her hair. Jane almost cries out in her surprise, brushing them away frantically. A quick glance behind proves Algernon has _not_ caught up, but...does his light seem closer? No. _Yes._ Then what...?

 _The roots._

The roots!

Her previous panic, the uncontrolled, desperate flight had made it hard to gauge how far she'd come. Grateful for the scare, Jane nearly cries tears of relief to have reached a familiar landmark. Jane threads her way through them. Droplets of water rain down, reminding her how raw her throat feels. Perhaps?

 _Gently now. Do not leave a trail._

Careful not to break the thin tendrils, Jane gathers a handful, bringing them to her lips. Sparse, cool water trickles into her mouth and down her parched throat. She takes another handful, and another. It's not enough. The droplets leave her hair and clothing damp, which serve to make shiver more violently, but the few swallows are _far_ better than nothing.

A second check behind her tells her she's taken too long. Algernon is closer now, much closer. She can make out his rough outline in the distance and he's not taking any pains to be quiet. And why would he? He's clearly visible and he's...he's talking? Yelling? Singing?

Jane abandons the roots and continues forward.

Algernon's voice follows. It echoes off the walls, sometimes lilting and sweet, sometimes the harsh bark of bitter expletives. She can't make out what he's saying, but it fills her with cold dread. And then...then he _laughs._ _Oh_ _Jesus,_ his laughter. Cackles and guffaws with uproarious lunatic humor which reverberates the tunnel around her.

 _Move it, Turnkey._

Algernon is close, too close. He lets loose another peal of those high-pitched giggles and her palms suddenly feel slick, clammy. A hard knot of fear twists low in her stomach.

 _Go._

Jane picks up her pace but she's tired, so very, _very_ tired. Her exhaustion hovers, lurking at the edges of her perception, slipping underneath her fevered tremors like the wild panic which had overtaken her earlier. Two more demons waiting for her in the dark. _Three_ , if you count the illness-induced delirium which seems to be getting worse by the hour.

 _Focus, Jane._

Jane pushes them away, concentrating hard. She has enough to worry about.

Tunnel on her left, right, right, left.

Behind her, Algernon launches into song.

 _Hurry._

Jane forces herself to hurry, _hurry._

Moving faster than her memory, Jane loses count and is a hundred steps down an intersecting side tunnel before she realizes she's gone the wrong way. The change in direction was subtle. She might have missed it altogether, lost beneath the mountain, if the terrain hadn't dropped away. Jane steps down _hard,_ stumbling where the rock has broken and fallen. It is only a foot, but it is enough of a difference to get her attention. Jarred by the impact, it occurs to Jane that never during this long trek has she had to step _upwards_ or traversed any sudden inclines. She's made a wrong turn, and perhaps is not that far off course, but she's lost precious time, wasted her lead on Algernon, squandered her waning energy.

What now?

Algernon's singing is louder now, the glow of his torch is now illuminating the side tunnel. She's not far enough down the passage to be hidden from the light. Should she run deeper? What if the ground becomes more uneven, or she tumbles into a crevasse? She cannot afford a twisted ankle or a broken leg.

 _Down._

Down then.

Jane drops to the ground, pressing her back against the small stair, tucking her hair beneath her.

Algernon reaches the juncture, pauses, and continues on.

Lying prone and shuddering on the stony ground, Jane waits.

After several minutes Jane peers over the rock which conceals her. The glow of the torch gets fainter, fainter. Cursing her foolishness, Jane creeps forward, making her way back to the main tunnel.

Algernon's torch retreats in the distance.

Should she go back towards his camp? No, it's too far, and she's too close to her freedom to retrace her steps yet again. Besides, she would not know where to go from there, and risks becoming trapped.

 _Follow him._

It's a good idea. Let Algernon lead her to the main cavern and make a mad dash for the entrance? At least there she would have room to move, a place for equal combat, a means to perchance avoid capture.

 _Go, Jane._

Tremors wracking her body, Jane follows.

* * *

A short while later Jane reaches the second cave in.

Puddles slosh into her boots as rain pours through the open ceiling. Jane curses roundly, uncreatively, beneath her breath. Jane had become complacent to her suffering, used to the many voices of pain clamoring in discordant chorus throughout her battered body, but the _indignity_ of wet socks is just a bit too much. It's cold and wet and awful and adds a new layer of misery as she flashes hot, then cold, then hot again.

She'd seen it coming, the cave in. It had been illuminated in the distance by Algernon's irregularly bobbing torch, but she'd forgotten about the stony, uneven ground. Her foot catches and she goes down on one knee, splashing loudly. Jane manages to stifle her cry, but it is too late; Algernon has turned and is coming back towards her.

 _No._

"Is that you, dearest?" The question rings clearly. His torch bobs as he comes closer.

She needs to retreat…to run...no, _hide._

 _The cracks in the wall._

Yes! Jane feels her way forward, searching for a break as Algernon closes the distance. She finds one but it ends abruptly. It is not deep enough to offer cover.

 _Find another._

Jane tries to remember where the cracks _were,_ but cannot. Instead she gropes blindly until she finds a second, than a third. The third fissure seems deep, burrowing into the mountain, and it's her only option. Algernon is _much_ closer, sighing plaintively between verses of a funeral dirge. He's almost on top of her really, and his flickering light nearly reaches the far walls of the cave in.

Shoving her body into the gap, Jane works her way back, her free hand in front of her. The space is narrow goes back six steps, seven, then makes a sharp turn into a dead end. It's not enough, Algernon will see her if he investigates, so she feels around until her hands find a small ledge above her.

It seems deep, Jane can't feel where the space terminates into the wall but it is her best, no, her _only_ chance to avoid detection.

Unable to hoist herself up the short span with one working arm, Jane pushes her feet against one wall, her back against the other. It's a precarious balancing act with only one hand to steady her progress, but Jane climbs her way up.

Algernon is close now, so close. She can hear his ragged intake of air. His breaths are uneven, and crackle wetly. Why isn't he dead yet?

The walls are damp and her progress is agonizingly slow. Jane's feet slip against the slick surface, and she's sure she isn't going to make it, but instead fall and Algernon is going to find her and-

 _Damnit, Jane. Climb!_

She levers herself up and back, pulling her legs after her just as Algernon reaches the entrance to her hiding spot. Jane scoots sideways, _quietly now,_ lying down and curling herself into a tight, trembling ball. Her teeth are chattering with fear, fever. She bites down hard on her cheek, tasting blood.

 _Calm. Still._

"Jane...where are you dearest? I know you are here somewhere. Or perhaps you have retreated into the dark?" The light gets brighter, brighter ...then dims as he passes her by.

Jane is just starting to relax, to let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, when Algernon thrusts the torch into her refuge. He steps after it, following the light to the small corner. She can see the top of his head, a small tuft of his dirtied blond locks. All he has to do is tilt his head, to look _sideways_ and _up_ to see her and he's close enough to _touch_ and _touch her_ in return, but before she can think, before she can form some defense, some plan of action, he's gone.

 _Be still. Wait._

The gravel crunches as Algernon continues on. After a while, he resumes his singing.

Adrenaline, so freshly renewed, trickles away. Its absence leaves her more weary than before. She fights the exhaustion, listening hard, waiting for Algernon to reappear. Silent tears roll down her cheeks, and Jane is so focused on listening, on staying awake, she never even notices when the fatigue rises up to consume her.

* * *

Her fevered dreams are fractured, broken.

Laughing with Lavinia under the sun.

Jester falling boneless, sinking into the fathomless depths of the lake.

Pepper and Rake, hidden in secret embrace amongst bobbing sunflowers.

Her mother, spots of color on her cheeks and a high dudgeon, cracking a switch on her palm as she tells Jane to dance, _dance._

Algernon turning from a centipede to a snake to a bat to a man, then back again as he slithers through a cave that glows green from everywhere yet nowhere.

Dragon angry for not finding the runes hidden beneath her bed.

Her father, humming pleasantly as he marks a tally of her steps her in the dark.

And finally, she dreams of Gunther.

 _Gunther._ She dreams of his _face,_ or rather that soul-killing expression of despair which had replaced his usual mask of casual indifference. Jane sees the moment over and over, when the shock of his revelation hit him, when he recognized her intentions for what they were. To trade herself for Lavina. To sacrifice the _them,_ Gunther and Jane. Newly discovered, barely started, and still so raw.

She sees his expression crumble as the world fell out from beneath his feet, and then...that vacant, slack look of disbelief...

Except in her dreams the events are jumbled up, out of sequence, _wrong_. Gunther doesn't turn away, doesn't leave when she presses the dagger to her breast. Instead he charges forward, eyes focused on the line of blood which trickles through her shirt, only to be run through by the sharp point of Algernon's sword.

Her mouth is open and she's screaming, wailing her denial over and over, but she isn't making any sound. Just noiseless vocalizations which cry _NO!_ with empty lungs.

He's slipping downward so Jane rushes to him, catching Gunther before he can fall forward into the mud.

 _Oh dear lord, his face..._ as he gasps in surprise and pain as blood dribbles from the side of his mouth and suddenly he's kissing her, hearty and hale next to the campfire with Dragon asleep behind them. Their lips meeting in desperate fervor, her hands exploring the hard dips and planes of his back, _his_ hand on her face, in her hair, tracing burning lines down her side. She can feel his touch radiating throughout her, the sensual warmth tingling pleasantly where before only the dull pain of bruises had thrummed.

Jane wraps herself around him, his warmth a stark, protective contrast to the bone-chilling cold which pervades every fiber of her being. She's cold, _so cold,_ but Jane leans into his kiss, letting her sense of self go and she's falling, falling.

* * *

Jane wakes in darkness.

It takes her a long moment to remember where she is, why the sun is absent, why she is so terribly sore and why she is so desperately thirsty.

She's aware of her headache next, and the pain which radiates up her left side, but her fever seems to have broken...or at least retreated far enough into the background she can function. Jane is neither too hot nor too cold, and she gives a silent prayer of thanks for small miracles and manageable afflictions.

Carefully, Jane lowers herself off her temporary bed. It's clumsy, graceless, and she scrapes the skin of her stomach on the way down. As she peers around the wall of her hiding place, she can see the faint light of dawn illuminating the myriad of puddles on the ground.

Tears form at the corners of her eyes.

Light.

Jane had never seen anything so beautiful.

 _Look, listen. Be on guard._

Bully.

 _Never_ a moment's peace.

...perhaps her fever had not retreated as far as she thought.

Still, Jane looks and listens. Torch or no, Algernon is not visible in the immediate area...but having slept she's now lost track of his whereabouts. Is he in front of her? Behind? Lying in wait to jump out and capture her like a spider in its web?

Jane leans down to splash some water on her face. The coolness is refreshing, steadying, but it reminds her of her thirst. It's tempting to cup her hands and _drink_ , but she shouldn't.

 _Enough. Get moving, Turnkey._

She does. Her progress is far slower than before, her memory a bit foggy and clouded, her movement impeded by the need for constant stealth, but she makes it past the third patch of subdued daylight without any sign of Algernon.

Then finally, _finally_ she reaches the point where she can see where the tubes end into the main cavern she almost falls to her knees to weep her thanks. The gloaming light, still faint and muted by clouds and rain, welcomes her like a warm embrace.

 _Almost there, Jane._

She is, she really is. Jane takes one halting step, then another, when a broken whisper snakes out from the shadows beside her.

"Jane, how lovely for you to join me."

Abandoning any pretense of stealth, Jane _runs._

* * *

She doesn't want to listen to his mad titters, but she has to. To know. To _gauge._

Is he behind her? Is he really? She doesn't know, she _doesn't know_ and she makes her stumbling feet go faster, faster. Jane's making a lot of noise, but she can't bring herself to care, there is no way he _can't_ see her in the growing light and if she can only just get out, to _see_ , to have the freedom to move, to hide.

He doesn't have her yet, and surely that is _something?_

 _Run._

The dim is fading and she knows the main cavern is _right there_ , so close, so _tauntingly_ close. Fifty steps? A hundred? She can't tell, she can't tell. It doesn't matter. Jane pushes harder, ignoring the cramp in her leg, the pull in her shoulder, the grating, stabbing pain in her side that flares with each breath.

She has to get out.

She can hear Algernon, behind, in front, right next to her, inside her head whispering, _no_ , _shouting_ words of torment.

She shoves him out, but just barely. She's too tired, too _scared._ She _needs_ to stop, to rest.

 _Come now, Jane. You cannot be giving up just yet?_

No.

She will not.

Suddenly the walls fall away and the main cavern opens before her. The low light spills into the darkness, throwing everything into high-contrast. The walls and ground fade away as the outside world and distant trees come into sharp focus. She can smell the rain on the wind, the sharp tang on the pine trees, the first breath of freedom.

Renewed, filled with new hope and fresh energy Jane picks up her pace-

And _falls._

Before she can make any significant headway, before she can gain any momentum _at all_ her feet hook into something soft and moist. It topples her forward, the ground rushing up to meet her. Jane twists, wrenching her body sideways in a valiant effort to spare her damaged shoulder, but her instincts are dulled, reactions slowed. Jane comes down hard on her back, legs tangled, head snapping painfully against the rough ground.

If she'd been able to see clearly her vision would have blurred. But she can't, it's still too dark, but there are little white and black streamers at the edges of her vision. There's a sharp pain at the back of her head and the high-pitched ringing which is gradually replaced by the thump-thumping of her beating heart.

It _is_ her heart right? Not the shuffling, dragging steps of her pursuer? The monstrous tread of Algernon? Did she cry out when she fell? Does it matter if the light is before her and he behind?

 _Get up! Get up and run, Jane!_

Agreed.

Jane reaches out, groping in an attempt to determine what has caused her to fall. Her hands meet cloth, cold, flaccid flesh. _The guide._ Where is Algernon? He'd gone quiet with her tumble... she can't hear his cackling, his insane rantings, but she can hear Gunther's voice in her head. He's screaming, echoing back and forth in her muddled brain.

 _GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!_

Jane rolls over, climbing unsteadily to her feet. She'd taken her first, halting step when a long-fingered, bloodied hand closes about her ankle. Twice in as many moments she's sprawled out on the cave floor-blood gushing into her eyes from a cut on her forehead- but this time she's being pulled, dragged backwards, kicking and screaming over the putrid softness of the dead body, back into the heart of the mountain.

 _FIGHT JANE, FIGHT!_

She tries, but she can't get free, she can't. She's too disoriented to get her bearings, to plan, to...

 _GET UP, JANE! FIGHT BACK!_

Leveraging herself with her good hand, Jane flips over, kicking wildly. Algernon's hands are clutching, grabbing, yanking. Finally, _FINALLY_ her foot connects - _CRACK!-_ with something solid. It's like stepping on a particularly large insect, its carapace cracking under her boot, and even in the semi-darkness she can see as black blood explodes from his ruined nose. The impact knocks him back. Not far, but far _enough,_ and his fingers lose their purchase on her flailing legs.

 _RUN!_

She's up and she's limping, hurrying along at the damnably plodding pace of her injuries. Is it the right direction? Is she still going out, and not back in? It's hard to see, darker now, and Jane belatedly realizes the cut on her forehead is bleeding into her eyes, giving the pale sickly light a red tinge. Jane would scrub it away, but it's a movement, it's _time_ she does not have to spare. Because she can hear him behind her. His boots thump with dull uneven tread in the sand. His pace is just as unsteady as hers but his legs are longer and he's catching up. Oh _God_ he's catching up.

 _RUN, JANE! For God's sake, RUN!_

He is close, so close, and the light- the outside light it's _RIGHT THERE._ On a normal day -Jane could barely remember those anymore- she could sprint it in less than a minute. But today is not normal, and she's not fast enough. Algernon is going to catch her, his fingers brush through hair and down her back and she leans to _leap_ forward away from his touch but it ruins her gait as her mind goes blank with horror.

Then, without warning, all of the light is gone. Blocked by the figure in the distance, his distorted shadow covering her. How had Algernon gotten in front of her?

"JANE, GET DOWN!"

Jane drops to the ground.

She rolls away, only to come face-to-face with the gory, grinning visage of insanity.

Everything slows. The beat of her heart. The hitching of her breath. The movement of her heels digging, scraping for purchase. Time slows and slows until it almost stops and Jane can see _everything._ The dead man in the sand, the water of the river flowing sluggishly against the rock. The deep red flow of blood as it pulses and drips into Algernon's frozen smile.

Jane hears a quick creak and dull twang, and then an arrow sprouts from Algernon's shoulder. The impact staggers him, but he does not fall. Then a second arrow thwacks wetly next to the first, reverberating with the impact, knocking Algernon back.

He's falling, falling.

It takes forever, really. That long slow slump backwards into the unforgiving ground. Jane has time to admire results of the archer's aim- they aren't kill shots-but the arrows are tightly, _beautifully_ spaced. Especially when one considered the archer, who is aiming with the light behind him, must be shooting nearly blind into the dark. Firing on faith alone.

Then Jane hears the sound of boot heels pounding. Someone is running, sprinting at full speed towards her and she has just enough time to raise her hand in automatic defense before a panting Gunther _-GUNTHER!-_ drops to his knees beside her. His momentum carries him forward, skidding in the loose scree.

"Gunther?"

She can't really see him, silhouetted against the light as he is. But it _is_ him. She'd know him anywhere. The slope of his shoulder, the harsh cadence of his breathing, the acrid smell of unwashed sweat and leather.

His strong arms scoop her up, crushing her against his chest. It hurts, the tightness of his grip. The jarring, uneven steps as he stands, burdened by her weight.

Then he is running, running.

He shouldn't be able to. Shouldn't be able to run flat-out while carrying her limp form. Jane isn't tall but she's not small either, and in the jumbled confusion of her mind she wonders how long she's been in the cave. Months? Years? So long that Gunther has had time to finish growing up without her. It's unfair, to have missed so much.

And then they are outside, the light blinding, _burning_ tears from her eyes despite the low clouds. Gunther raises his voice to the sky, calling for Dragon. It flies up, up, over the pounding rain up to where Dragon is circling.

Dragon drops like a stone, landing hard enough to shake the earth beneath them, and then is gone, racing into the cavern with a great gust of wind. Gunther wobbles a bit, almost bowled over by Dragon's wake as he bounds past.

Jane flops her head back over Gunther's corded arm, looking behind them. She's just in time to see Dragon's outline swallowed by immense gusts of liquid flame. She can't see past his bulk, or further into the cave, but the sound, _oh the sound._ Dragon is roaring, screaming his vengeance.

For a moment Jane can feel the air around her swirling, pulling, being sucked into the yawning maw of the cave. Then a second later, the blow-back of heat as the firestorm rushes towards them. It sweeps outwards to where the rain is coming down in stinging, billowing sheets.

Gunther feels it too, hurrying to the far side of the clearing before turning around to watch Dragon's rage. The heat is not as intense here, sheltering under the boughs of a low tree. Rain sluices off the whipping leaves great torrents. Gunther stares at the spectacle before them, transfixed. Had he not seen Dragon's wrath previously, when he had rescued Lavinia? Or had his attention been fixed on her, during her moment of weakness?

Dragon, having started, does not stop.

Roaring and roaring until the very walls of the caves are a glowing red, veined with black. They throb dully with each exhalation, pulse yellow and orange like the day they were formed, the blood of the rock draining from the heart of the mountain.

The cacophony is monstrous. A dragon's fury, voiced with the roaring of heated wind. The hammering of unrelenting rain. The noise of stalactites cracking and falling under the immense pressure of Dragon's blast. It sounds as if the mountain itself is coming down.

It's power. It's death. A force of nature, a finger of God, the wrath of the universe itself. It's fearsome and wondrous and horrible and Jane cannot look away.

Distantly, she hears Gunther shouting. He's trying to get her attention.

"How many more men are there?" Jane drags her eyes to his worried face. He looks like he wants to shake her. "Jane, how many more men does Algernon have out here?"

"None." Her head rolls back to watch Dragon. The stone glows now, white and blue along with the red. "It's pretty."

Gunters eyes go wide with fear.

" _Jesus,_ Jane. Are you injured?"

She doesn't reply. Her exhaustion, her fever. She can't focus. Doesn't have to, now that Gunther is here, _really_ here, with her. It's like waking up from an endless nightmare and finding the world is still gentle and good. She can relax now, sheltered as she is by his arms.

Worried, _panicked,_ Gunther sets her on her feet. His hands are everywhere as he mumbles to himself. Squeezing for broken bones, rotating her wrists and ankles, lifting her arms to look for cuts, wiping the blood from her face, probing her hair and old bruises for new injuries.

It's uncomfortable. It hurts, and it tickles, and it's funny in a macabre way. It's funny because _of course_ she's injured, and _no_ she is not alright. Not by _any_ stretch of the imagination. But Gunther is _here_ and she is just _perfect_ and his hands tremble as they travel about her person.

It's awful to see him like this, to know that she is the reason for his frenzied inspection. He's trying so very hard to be gentle, but his hands are _shaking,_ and he looks like he wants to _ask. Ask_ about the terrible _thing_ Algernon used to cut with during their last confrontation.

But of course Gunther doesn't know where to start, or what question to lead with, or even how to go about framing such a topic, so instead _he's what_? Looking for physical evidence outside of her very _dirty_ and very _damp_ clothes? As far as she knows, Gunther would have no point of reference, no prior knowledge to even _identify_ what such a _thing_ would look like, but his hands are travelling up her legs to lift her shirt and it is _most_ improper, indeed.

So Jane starts to laugh.

It's the crease between his brows, the exaggerated downward twist of his mouth that finally sets her off. She's not laughing _at_ him, and she couldn't even begin to explain _why_ she is laughing at all, but it spills out of her. Peal after peal of rolling, snorting laughter. It hurts her sides, catches against her dry throat.

She's exhausted, and sore, and hungry, wet from the rain, and perhaps a little delirious, and she's embarrassed where his hands are, but most of all she is _relieved._ Relieved the princess is safe, relieved Algernon is dead, relieved to be free of the mountain, relieved to be with Gunther.

Relief floods her _entire._

And on the heels of that she feels love. Love for her friends and love for her family. But above all else, love for the man who is worrying over her bruises and a hundred imagined injures. It pains her to see him like this, and her laughter rolls into sobs, only to change back once again.

The flood of emotion, the sudden switch from high to low to high again, is overwhelming. Too much. _Too much._

 _Get ahold of yourself, Turnkey._

Even now, with Gunther here, _hovering_ over her, the voice in her head is still his, smirking. How a voice, an _imaginary_ voice can smirk, she does not know.

The thought makes her laugh harder.

It sounds a little unbalanced, even to her ears.

Unsurprisingly, the laughing does not go over well.

"What...why are you…? Jane, _JANE!_ Where does it _hurt_?" Gunther's voice cracks, he could be crying, but she can't tell in the rain. Water pours down his hair, cheeks. His hands travel to her brow, pressing and finding a fever. His fingers tangle into her hair to find the sticky patch of scalp where she had sacrificed a chunk of her hair. He frowns, then again inspects the cut on her brow which has finally stopped bleeding. The wound is not serious, but he's looking at her like she might break with the slightest touch.

It takes effort, but Jane manages to calm herself. Suppress the barks of amusement which are just a little _too_ close to turning back into sobs.

Gunther is quivering, _frantic_ in his concern.

He's coming unglued, if he hasn't already, ripping apart at the seams, falling apart in his distress.

Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, Jane reaches up with both hands, capturing his face, putting an end to his desperate investigation. Tangling her fingers in his hair, Jane pulls him down, down, until his forehead rests against hers.

"Gunther." Her voice is quiet, calming. " _Gunther."_

His breathing is ragged, coming in great gusts. A stallion that has been run far too long and far too hard. He cannot come down. _Cannot._ He's trembling all over, skin twitching. His hands clutch reflexively at her shoulder, her waist. His eyes are black, black.

Gunther isn't even _there._ He's stuck, caught up in a swirling gyre of his own panic.

 _Dear God, how long has he been in this state?_

The voice is hers this time. It grounds her. She pushes past her exhaustion, her fever. Gunther _needs_ her.

" _Gunther, Gunther, Gunther."_ Again and again until he hears her. " _Gunther..._ peace, please. You are with me now. I am alright." She snakes her good arm around his neck and pulls him down until his face is buried in her neck, her hair.

His arms wrap around her waist and leans _into_ her, holding her tightly- _too_ tightly- like she might suddenly disappear or be snatched away. He's still twitching, heart racing, swaying dangerously on his feet, clinging to her as though she is life itself.

"Gunther, Gunther, come back to me. I am here, let it go. I love you. I am alright, come back to me." He's so far away. Over and over she calls to him, pulling him back. "Gunther, _Gunther…_ I am safe. You can let it go. Come back. I am here."

 _I am here._

 _Right here._

 _I am alright._

 _I love you._

She says it, thinks it, feels it with the wholly undivided passion of her soul.

After an indeterminable amount of time, he takes a deep shuddering breath. It hisses between his clenched teeth. "You are not…" a sob catches in his throat, "...he did not?" Gunther swallows thickly. He can't even say it.

Jane pulls back to meet his eyes. His are red, swollen. It's not just the rain, then. He _has_ been crying. "No, Gunther. He did not...no. He might have, that is... he _tried_ but…."

"But what?" Gunther demands, trying disentangle himself, to pull away. That red haze threatens to drop, to swirl about him.

"Gunther! Stop." It's a command. He stills. "He did NOT. But...I lost your dagger."

He blinks once, twice. Trying to make sense of what she's said.

"Truly, Gunther. I am alright."

When he doesn't respond Jane moves her hands to to his face, pulling him down, and then she's kissing him. That crease in his brow, the rain on his cheeks, the place where his jaw which flexes and flexes as he tries to reign in his own emotions. His chin, his neck, his ear. Any part of him she can reach.

When she finally joins her lips with his, the horrible tremors have stopped, and he is there, _right there,_ with her. Kissing her back, lips colliding with hers. Sighing into her mouth as the tension drains out of him. He seals his lips to hers, they're so wet and so _cool,_ and feel just right against her flushed, fevered skin. One strong arm curls around her back to bring her closer, closer. His other hand cups her jaw gently, absently stroking her cheek like she's the most important thing in the universe.

Jane knots her fingers into his hair, her nails scoring his scalp, his neck. His hair is soaked with rainwater, pasted across his brow, tiny rivulets cutting down. She can feel the erratic pulse of his heart fluttering under her fingertips, but this time it is _her_ doing. The knowledge fills her with a sort of heady giddiness and she kisses him again, and again, and again.

He groans and slides his hands deeper into her hair, and she is faintly, distantly aware that he's sinking to his knees -they both are- with her still clasped against him while they kiss, and kiss.

The universe shrinks down to a singular point of gravity which seals them inexorably together. There is no space, no distance between them. No room for thought or observation. Distant worlds, the sun, the moon- all could whirl away and she would hardly notice.

A steamy chuff of air whips her hair across her face.

"You short-lives going to snog all day or shall we blow this turnip stand?"

Jane drags herself away. It is… difficult. She makes herself to lean back, unwrap her arm from where it had tangled beneath his shirt. W _hen had that happened?_

Wiping sodden hair from her eyes, Jane turned her face to Dragon, who had shoved his great head into their boughed shelter. They had both been so… _distracted_ , neither Jane nor Gunther had noticed the sudden silence or Dragon's lumbering approach.

She should be embarrassed, but she is not.

Gunther, however? Gunther's lips are pressed together in a tight, white line and his bronzed face has taken on a decidedly rosy hue.

He truly _does_ blush most fetchingly.

Jane gives his reddened cheek a peck. Astonishingly, the blush deepens.

With a smile, Jane turns her attention back to her great green lips. Dragon smells of brimstone and heat. Outside, where his body is still exposed to the lashing weather, his scales steam and hiss as raindrops splatter against his heated hide.

Dragon cocked his head at her appraisal, waggling the ridges of his brows at them.

"What?"

* * *

In the end, it was decided they'd make camp elsewhere.

Dragon was far too tired to ferry them the distance to the castle, and besides- roasting greasy, maggoty nobles gave him gas.

Gunther was worried about the possibility of lurking henchmen, despite Jane's reassurances. There was still the issue of the missing knight, but Jane doubted they'd see him again.

As for Jane...Jane just wanted to get the hell out of there. Wanted to go _home._ In the absence of that option, would settle for just about anywhere else than here.

* * *

By mid-afternoon they had settled on a campsite. A single ancient tree which kept watch over a series of low rolling hills.

Having declared the storm blown out and grumpy at the _shocking_ lack of parsnips in Gunther's pack, Dragon situated himself as a windblock and promptly fell asleep.

Gunther set about making camp while Jane made a simple meal over their small campfire. He had tried to stop her, of course. Fussing about, checking her injuries. He was amazing, this man of hers. He'd only relented when she'd promised to lay down, to _sleep,_ after they'd eaten. It was hard to argue. Truly. Jane was weary, tired down to her very _bones_ , though her fever seemed to be receding with each shy reappearance of the sun.

When she finally lay down, or rather, was put to bed by an equally exhausted Gunther, she caught his hand and pulled him along with her. Settled deep under his cloak, she buried her face into his chest, tangling her arms and legs around him in mute reassurance that she is _there,_ and she is _alright..._ they both are.

"I love you, Jane." Gunther pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

"And I you, Gunther Breech." She snuggled in closer, comforted by his protective arms, enveloped by his familiar scent.

"Stay with me?" he asked, his voice is thick with fatigue.

"Forever," she whispered, and fell deeply, happily asleep.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks to Kyra, JatD, and Vegas for helping me wade through the tricky parts of the lava tunnels!_


End file.
